The Real Story
by sophronia
Summary: What really happened between Simon and Morris. New update: Simon tells Morris some secrets about life with the Camdens. Rated R for language and homosexuality.
1. Part One

The Real Story

Part I

The tires on the Jeep squealed as Morris pulled into his garage. Killing the engine, he hopped out and headed toward the back stairs of the house, which led directly to his bedroom. He'd always been glad that the house was set up so that he could come and go without his parents knowing, but never more than tonight. He didn't want to think about what they might see in his face if he had to talk to them now.

Letting himself in the back door, he threw himself onto his bed without even bothering to turn on the light. He lay on his back, his hands behind his head, staring up at where he knew the ceiling would be, even if he couldn't see it. His face contorted as the memory of what had just happened played over and over in his head.

Morris couldn't believe he'd gotten himself into this situation.

It had all started months ago, when Morris walked into his Microeconomics class and saw Simon Camden sitting in one of the front desks. Micro and its spring semester follow-up, Macro, were senior electives, and the seniors regarded them as a place to relax and enjoy themselves in their last few months before graduation. Not that they were easy A's, but the teacher was cool about excusing kids for senior obligations and keeping the material light towards the end of the year. Having a whole class full of seniors meant that there was no danger of some studious type breaking from the pack.

But now, who had turned up in Micro but Simon Camden. A sophomore. And a preacher's kid on top of it.

Morris had already run into Simon in his accounting class last year and he knew that Simon was studious and somewhat of a goody-goody. How on earth had Simon managed to get into Micro?

"I just signed up for it," Simon told him when he asked as they were leaving after the first day of class. "I had all the prerequisites and nobody said that I couldn't sign up, so I did." He grinned.

Only Simon, Morris reflected, would look so damn pleased about a math class.

"Just don't be a pain in the ass about things," Morris warned him, having decided to give him a little friendly advice. "All the other kids in the class are seniors, and they've got more important things to do than worry about you demanding extra credit and blowing the curve."

Simon actually looked concerned. "Oh, I wouldn't do that!" he reassured Morris. "I'm not a nerd or anything!"

Morris couldn't help himself. He snorted with laughter, watching as Simon turned bright pink with embarrassment. The look on the younger boy's face was so humiliated, though, that Morris felt a strange pang of affectionate pity for him. He choked back the rest of his laughter and said, "Yeah, just watch your step, Camden." But he didn't really try to make it sound mean. Then he headed off to his senior English seminar.

Morris could never figure out why he ever allowed Simon to hang around him in the first place. Simon was a complete dork, no question about it. You could see it in the way he always said the stupidest, lamest things, without a hint of self-awareness or caution. Even when other kids laughed, Simon would get embarrassed, but it was like he couldn't stop himself. There he'd be, jumping in with another ridiculous comment the very next chance he got. Morris had no idea why he found this quality tolerable in Simon Camden. He'd tormented kids in middle school for much less, and he certainly hadn't felt any affection for any of them. For some reason, Simon was different.

Morris had always been concerned with how he appeared to others. He was a popular kid, good-looking and athletic and friendly to most of the kids at school, but not the kind of person who had friends like Simon. He told his other friends that Simon helped him out with his Micro homework and got him to pass all the tests, and that was certainly true. He was maintaining a solid B-plus average in the class, and most of that was thanks to Simon letting him copy his homework and helping him study. He hadn't let himself realize that there might be more to it until that night.

The whole evening had been weird. As he drove his Jeep to the Camden house, Morris had wondered for the thousandth time why he was even going to this lame-ass party. Simon had been desperate to go, and Morris had warned him not to; he knew it wasn't Simon's scene at all and the other kids would freak out when they saw him there. Simon had insisted, spouting a lot of his usual geeky bullshit about how he wanted to change his image or something. Whatever, Morris thought. Then Simon had called and informed him that his mother had insisted he could only go to the party if Morris showed up at the house and picked him up. Normally, Morris would never have put up with that kind of crap. Then why had he actually gone through with it? Just turn around, he kept telling himself as he drove to Simon's house. Call him on your cell phone and tell him to fuck off. But for some reason, he kept going. 

Then there was the scene at the house, complete with interrogation by the parents. If this was how the Camdens were every time their kids went anywhere, Morris thought, no wonder the whole family was socially retarded. He turned on the charm he always used to win over parents and finally got them out the door, but first he'd had to give them his word that he would keep an eye on their precious son. Simon looked so absurdly happy over the prospect of one stupid party that Morris wanted to laugh at him. After that glimpse of life at the Camdens', Morris had to admit to himself that Simon could probably use a little fun – but more like a field trip with the Future Businesspersons of America or something. Definitely not a senior party.

The party itself was just as Morris had predicted. Mike and his friends descended on Simon like predatory owls on a field mouse. By the time Morris had said hello to a few people and gotten a couple of sodas, Simon was in the backyard and well on his way to being plastered on Everclear punch. A bunch of kids were gathered around, laughing at him as he stumbled around and made endless, nonsensical attempts to answer Mike and Tom's stupid questions. Morris had to drag him out; and worse, he was aware all the time that the other kids were wondering why he was so anxious to get Simon out of there when they were having so much fun laughing at him. He'd have to settle that issue with his friends the next time he saw them.

As he drove back to the Camdens', listening to Simon babbling from the passenger seat, his thoughts kept coming back to that question. Why had he put himself through this bummer of an evening when it would have been so easy to just ditch Simon and forget him? He glanced over at the kid, who was feeling no pain, as they waited at red lights. What the hell made him do these things for this stupid kid?

Morris pulled up down the block from the Camden house. There was no way he was letting himself in for whatever punishment Simon's parents were about to dish out. Simon struggled with his seat belt for a few minutes, until Morris leaned across to help him. His arm brushed Simon's, and he realized suddenly that their faces were only inches apart. He could feel Simon's warm breath on his cheek and smell the odor of the sickly sweet punch on it.

He was close enough to kiss Simon.

Morris sprang back to the driver's seat. The seat belt had snapped open, but Simon wasn't making any move to get out, and he wasn't talking either. He was looking at Morris with an odd, puzzled expression on his face. 

"You – uh, you sure you're okay?" Morris stammered.

"Fine!" Simon gurgled. Then he got out of the car and fell flat on the curb.

Normally, Morris knew he would have been laughing his ass off at that. Right now, though, nothing seemed very funny. He just wanted to get out of there.

Simon popped back up and began stumbling toward his house. Morris peeled out and took off.

He was still in shock, going over it in his head as he stared at his ceiling. The feeling that had come over him in the car when he leaned into Simon was overwhelming. He couldn't deny it – he'd wanted to kiss Simon. The sensation of their arms touching had been positively electric. 

Of course, that wasn't possible. Morris was a football linebacker and a star first baseman. He had a roomful of trophies from all the sports he'd played over the years. He'd had plenty of girlfriends any time he wanted them. He was almost 18 and had never had these thoughts about any other male he'd ever met in his entire life.

How else could you explain it, though? All the time he'd spent with Simon. He'd defended the kid to his friends over and over again, even though he knew Simon was just as hopelessly dorky as his friends said. The way he found Simon's lame remarks amusing rather than irritating. His giving in to Simon's begging to go to the party. The only thing that made sense of it all was that he liked Simon. He wanted to be with Simon.

The thought scared him. It almost didn't seem as though it could be true, it was so opposite everything that he had ever thought about himself. But whenever he told himself that it was ridiculous, he was imagining things, he remembered the feeling that had overcome him in the Jeep. He was not imagining that. He was still slightly woozy from the power of it.

The whole situation was impossible, he realized. It wasn't just Morris himself. He was having these feelings for a kid, a fifteen-year-old kid, and the son of a minister. It was just wrong. Whatever it was, he had to put a stop to it. Avoid Simon as much as possible, and concentrate his attention on other things – that was the way to handle it.

After a few minutes, he got up and left his room. He was headed back to the Camdens' to confess that despite his promises, he'd let Simon get drunk and then just dropped him off at the corner and run away. He was certain that they'd blow their tops and probably call the police. But at any rate, they were sure to ground Simon and forbid him from hanging out with Morris ever again, and that seemed like the perfect solution to his problem. No matter how he felt about it.


	2. Part Two

Part Two

Monday. School. Morris parked his Jeep in the parking lot, but instead of getting out and heading over to where his friends would be, he simply sat. Finding that he was gritting his teeth, he leaned his head back on the headrest and made himself relax. He had to stay calm, especially today. 

Finally he heard the first bell booming out of the loudspeakers. Jumping out of the Jeep, he grabbed his books off the passenger seat and briefly recalled Simon Camden sitting there, wasted, but sober enough to give him that puzzled look when he -- He closed his eyes and cleared his head; he wasn't going to think about that. Opening his eyes and assuming the old Morris swagger, he headed out of the parking lot toward the school building.

Mike and Tom were waiting for him just inside the door. They grabbed him and dragged him into a corner of the hall. Morris could tell by their faces that he was dead, but he smiled innocently at them anyway, hoping he could bluff his way through.

"Hey guys, what's up?" he asked.

"Do you know what that little prick Simon Camden did?" Mike snarled. "He told his parents about the party, and they called the cops!"

"Half the senior class got busted," Tom added furiously. "My parents had to pick me up at the police station." His eyes narrowed and he leaned in, pushing Morris back into the wall. "All because you insisted on bringing that asshole."

"Get out of my face," Morris said, shoving Tom away from him. "And it's not my fault. If you guys hadn't been feeding him the Everclear punch, everything would have been cool."

The warning bell rang. A teacher standing down the hall yelled at them, "Break it up, guys, and get to class!"

Mike and Tom stood over him menacingly for a minute, and then withdrew. "We told you not to bring the little faggot," Mike said. Morris's stomach contracted at the word, and he felt his face reddening. "Don't think anyone is going to forget about this," Mike warned as Morris slid around them and headed for class.

Morris kept his head down as he hurried down the hall. Hopefully they would think that his red face was because of their threats and not … He wasn't going to think about it. Right now they were just blaming him for inviting Simon to the party. Maybe it would all blow over – but only if they didn't find out that Morris was the one who told the Camdens. And that meant he had to find a way to keep Simon from telling anyone.

*****

When Morris walked into Economics, Simon was already there. Morris watched as a huge grin spread across Simon's face at the sight of him, and he nearly ran back out the door. Dropping his eyes to the floor, he marched grimly to his desk across from Simon's.

Morris was barely in his seat when Simon leaned over and said fervently, "Guess what!"

"What?" Morris mumbled, concentrating on digging through his backpack and not looking at Simon.

"I talked to my parents, and they agreed that it wasn't your fault!"

"So?" Morris asked coldly. He was suddenly very aware of the other kids in the class all around them. Pretending to be involved in unpacking his Econ book from his backpack, he tried to peer at them out of the corners of his eyes. They were definitely watching and listening. Did they suspect something?

"So they said we can still be friends!" Simon said, his enthusiasm undimmed by Morris's tepid reaction.

"Great," Morris snapped. "That really makes my day." Noticing a couple of the other kids smirking at his put-down, he felt a little better. 

He let himself glance at Simon. The younger boy was clearly astonished, his feelings hurt. Good, Morris thought heartlessly. Maybe he'll shut up now.

Simon turned back to his desk and spent the rest of the class staring straight ahead as the teacher droned on about supply theory. Morris took elaborate notes, concentrating on not paying any attention to Simon. As soon as the bell rang, Morris jumped to his feet and practically ran out into the hall to his locker. He was still transferring books to and from his backpack as fast as possible when someone grabbed his arm. Simon, of course.

"What do _you_ want?" Morris asked gruffly, shaking his arm out of Simon's grasp.

Simon whined, "What's the matter? Are you still mad about the other night?"

The other night … Morris cringed. This was exactly what he didn't need. He knew very well that Simon couldn't be trusted not to blab all over school about Morris's confession to the Camdens. That would be bad enough, but what if Simon remembered what had happened in the Jeep? The kid had been pretty out of it, but still. With Simon, you never knew what he might say to somebody without even thinking about it. Morris could not risk having his entire senior year ruined by Simon's big fat mouth. He was going to have to be mean.

He took a deep breath. "You bet I'm mad," he snarled so nastily that Simon jumped backwards a step. "I put myself on the line getting you invited to that party, and you thank me by acting like an asshole. Now my friends are pissed at me because your stupid parents called the cops on them and got them in trouble. So yeah, I am pretty friggin' mad!"

Simon was so shocked that he didn't even point out that it was Morris's own fault the party had been busted. He just stood there, his mouth hanging open and his face pale. Morris felt a sharp pang at the look in Simon's eyes. He fought it down. This was necessary, he reminded himself. 

Shoving Simon out of the way, Morris slammed his locker closed and took off down the hall to English. He could feel Simon's eyes on his back as he walked away, but the younger boy didn't make any move to follow him. This was exactly what he wanted to happen, Morris reminded himself. So why did he feel so terrible about it?


	3. Part Three

Part Three

The next few weeks were hell. Never before had Sean Morris, Mr. Popularity, had to eat in the cafeteria alone, or had to hang out alone after school. He'd always thought he was above worrying about having friends, but he now realized how easy it was when you never had to worry about them. They'd always flocked to him before. Even his girlfriend, Meaghan, was suddenly too busy with school and extracurricular activities to go out when he called. Her voice was polite on the phone, but somehow impersonal. 

The loneliness was unexpectedly painful. He tried to maintain his easygoing, nothing-bothers-me front in the face of his friends' hostility, but it began to wear him down. Even at baseball practice he was ignored, and a couple of times the coach took him aside and asked him if everything was going okay. "Yeah, sure," Morris replied, shaking off the coach's concern. 

Worse, without his friends to distract him, it suddenly seemed that Simon was everywhere he looked, floating around on the periphery of Morris's life like some kind of silent specter. Each time he caught sight of Simon, Morris's heart leaped in his chest – from attraction? From fear? Could anyone tell that he was thinking about the crazy daydreams that he had each night just before he fell asleep? God, how he hated himself when he woke up and remembered what he had been thinking about the night before: the two of them alone together somewhere, talking and laughing, nobody else around to bother them. He'd look into Simon's blue eyes and see something in there that let him know it was safe, and he'd reach out, slowly taking him into his arms, and –  No. Stop right there. He wasn't going to think about that, not if he could help it. 

Morris sat in his room one Friday evening, trying to put all of this out of his mind. He'd come home from baseball practice, gone straight into his room and played hours of Playstation, but even that was boring him. Lying on the bed, trying to come up with something he could do other than sit in his room and try not to think about Simon, he heard his parents knocking on his bedroom door.

"Can we talk to you?" his father asked through the door.

"I'm doing my homework," Morris lied, not particularly wanting to deal with them.

His father opened the door anyway. Both he and Morris's mother stood out in the hallway, still dressed in their work clothes, with worried expressions on their faces. Morris sat up and couldn't stop himself from glancing guiltily over at his desk, where his backpack filled with homework assignments sat, unopened.

Ignoring their son's lie about the homework, Morris's mother and father came into the room and stood looking down at him with concern. "Sean, we need to talk about school," his father said. "Your economics teacher called today and said that you've failed the last two quizzes and you're in danger of failing the class."

"That means you wouldn't graduate," his mother clarified.

Morris couldn't believe he'd been so stupid. Dimly he'd known that he was failing a lot of things, but he'd been so wrapped up in his personal problems that he hadn't realized how bad it was getting. It hadn't even occurred to him that his grade was dropping so steeply that they might call his parents. Plus, failing Econ meant he might be kicked off the baseball team. The school insisted that all athletes maintain a 2.0 GPA.

"I know that it's your senior year," Mr. Morris went on. "I remember how hard it was to concentrate on school when there's so many other things going on. But you know that your baseball scholarship at State depends on you keeping your grades up. If you don't graduate with your class, even if you make up the credit in summer school, you could lose that scholarship."

Morris felt awful. His parents had been so proud of his getting that scholarship, and now he'd gone and screwed it up.

"Is there something going on?" Morris's mother asked sadly. "Please, honey, if there's something bothering you so much that it's interfering with your studying, you've got to tell us."

"You know you can talk to us about anything," Morris's father added.

They'd always told him that, ever since preschool. They'd always been there for him. And if it had been anything else -- if he'd gotten a girl pregnant or was on drugs or wanted to drop out of school -- Morris might have told them. He knew that they would be very upset about any of those things, but they would have helped him any way they could and made things better. But tell them, "Well, Mom and Dad, I'm failing my economics class because I can't stop daydreaming about kissing the guy who sits across from me"? He couldn't do it. 

"I don't know what's the matter with me," Morris said miserably. "I guess I've just been slacking off too much. But I promise I'll do better from now on."

"That's good to hear, son," his father said. "But your mother and I are worried. This is too important. It's your future we're talking about. So we've arranged for you to get some tutoring from another student in your class, a kid named Simon Camden. Mr. Dunwich said he knows the material backwards and forwards, and he's volunteered for the peer tutoring program."

Morris couldn't believe what he was hearing. "No!" he shouted. His parents looked shocked, and he lowered his voice. "I mean, I don't need that kind of thing. I just need to study more. I've been wasting my time, and I'll just work on managing my time better. I'm sure that's all I need." He was talking faster and faster.

His parents were looking at him curiously. "Of course, you'll have to do all that. But your mother and I have decided that it can't hurt for you to get a little extra help, and it might just motivate you. Mr. Dunwich has agreed to give you a little grace period to get your grades back up, as long as you're working with the tutor. All the arrangements have already been made."

"So I get no say in this at all?"

"I'm afraid not."

Morris slumped back on the bed. He was trapped. His scholarship and all the plans he had made for going to State next year depended on his passing Econ and staying on the baseball team. And both those things were dependent on him agreeing to be tutored by Simon Camden. If he made a big fuss about it or demanded a different tutor, they would just wonder why, and what explanation could he give them?

"Fine," he said flatly, refusing to look at his parents. He couldn't help feeling that they were persecuting him, even though he knew it was ridiculous – after all, how could they possibly know what they were doing? And at the same time, deep inside, he felt a tiny thrill at the thought of spending time with Simon. He tried to ignore it, but it was there. That made him feel more confused than ever.

******

The next day when he arrived at Econ class, Simon was already at his desk. As they had for the past few weeks, they ignored each other carefully. But as the other kids around him turned their attention to a kid out in the hallway telling a story about some moron who had eaten a frog gall bladder during Biology dissections, Morris mumbled, "I guess you're gonna be my tutor."

Simon glanced over at him quickly, obviously nervous but trying to cover it. "Yeah, my parents told me about it," he answered. "Mr. Dunwich called them."

"When are we supposed to—" Morris couldn't seem to think of the right thing to say. "Um, when do you –" 

"There's another quiz tomorrow, so this afternoon, I guess. You have to come over to my house because I'm still on restriction for the party."

Oh, great – he'd get to see the Camdens again. Wonderful. "I have practice until four-thirty." Morris was half-hoping and half-dreading that Simon would say forget it.

"After that is fine." Simon spoke quietly and emotionlessly.

"Okay," Morris said just as the bell rung. As the other kids trooped to their desks, Morris opened his notebook and pretended to be engrossed in whatever he had written in class yesterday until he felt certain that his emotional state wouldn't show in his face.


	4. Part Four

Part Four

The Camdens, strangely, were actually happy about the tutoring arrangement. Apparently his little confession on the night of the party was all they needed to convince themselves that Morris was a nice guy. If only they knew, Morris thought.

The tutoring itself was all business. Simon said nothing more about being friends or about Morris helping him to become more popular. He hardly said anything except about Econ. Morris actually missed the old Simon and all his stupid, geeky remarks. It did make it easier to concentrate on Econ, though. And despite the tense situation, the tutoring was working. Morris's grades had gone back to their usual mediocre level – nothing to brag about, but good enough to keep him on the baseball team. 

Both sets of parents were thrilled. In fact, after Simon and Morris's third tutoring session, during which they'd caught Ruthie outside the door eavesdropping and Lucy had interrupted twice to ask Simon for "important advice" about her former boyfriend, the Camdens suggested Simon go over to Morris's house from now on, even though he was technically still on restriction. There were too many distractions at the Camden house, they explained, with all the people yelling and running in and out. Morris, unable to see any way out of it, agreed miserably. Simon said nothing.

So the next week, Morris and Simon were alone in Morris's room all afternoon. Unlike the Camdens', Morris's house was deadly silent, but that seemed to make it more difficult to concentrate instead of less. Morris could hardly think about Econ with all the other thoughts that were crowding around in his head. He was hyperconscious of Simon across the room, sitting at Morris's desk, explaining some long-winded concept. Every time Simon moved, Morris nearly jumped.

Does he remember what happened? Morris wondered. Simon had never given any indication that he did. But he had changed; he was uncomfortable and guarded whenever Morris was around. It was worse, in a way, than if Simon had been blabbing on about the Jeep incident in his usual way. At least then Morris would have known where he stood. As it was, all he could do was wonder. He kept sneaking glances over his book at Simon, trying yet again to figure out why he was so fascinated by the kid – just a regular skinny kid with blond hair, nothing special really. So why was he constantly thinking about him? And did Simon realize it?

Dropping his pencil with a sigh, Simon stood up and stretched, his back to Morris. "You're not listening, are you?"

"No," Morris admitted.

"You have to," Simon said. "We're both on the line now. If you don't pass, I'll get in as much trouble as you will." He stared out the window, where the setting sun was turning the sky bright orange. "Did you hear that I went out with Sasha?" he asked suddenly.

Well, that was news. Sasha was one of the biggest sluts in the senior class; what the hell would she want with Simon Camden? "No," Morris said, deliberately keeping his voice calm, as if he was just asking out of idle curiosity. "So how'd it go? Did you do her?"

"No."

"No? Why not? Everybody else at school has." Despite his efforts, Morris couldn't keep the nastiness out of his voice. Jesus, he thought, what is wrong with me? Why should I care?

"I didn't want to."

"Yeah, sure. You were dissed!" Stop it, Morris begged himself. Just shut up.

"No, I really didn't want to. I don't really like her anyway."

Morris pondered that for a while. Had the kids been trying to get something on Virgin Camden so they could use it against him? Mike and Tom were just mean enough to try something like that. Bastards. But then why would Sasha go along with it? Calm down, Morris instructed himself. It doesn't mean anything. Maybe she just wanted to go out with a guy who wouldn't spend the whole time trying to get in her pants, for once.

"I'm not going out with her anymore," Simon said, and Morris thought he sensed a tiny emphasis in Simon's words. As if he was hinting around at something that he couldn't come right out and say. 

No. Morris bent back over his Econ book and redoubled his efforts to concentrate on the graphs. It had to be his imagination working overtime. It had to be.

Silence settled over the room. Morris read until he realized that he was being blinded by the ray of orange light from the window shining directly in his eyes. He looked up. Simon was still standing at the desk just in front of the window, daydreaming, not noticing the bright sun. 

"Dude, close the blinds, that light is right in my face," Morris ordered crossly.

Simon acted as though he hadn't heard him. Morris squinted at his book for a few more seconds, then said, "Hey, didn't you hear me? I said close the blinds, man." He dragged himself up off the floor and went over to the window himself. 

Simon was silhouetted in front of the west-facing window, staring into the orange glare. Morris reached out to close the Venetian blinds and, strangely, Simon didn't make any move to get out of his way. He just stood there, forcing Morris to reach around him to get the blind cord. At first, Morris was a little annoyed and flustered at the enforced proximity, until it occurred to him that maybe it was on purpose. Maybe Simon had come up with a way for the two of them to get closer without either one having to make a move.

The thought filled Morris with a rush of excitement and terror. Before he could think about it too much, he dropped the cord and slowly lowered his arm until it was resting around Simon's shoulder. He still couldn't see Simon's face, so he couldn't tell how Simon was reacting, but he wasn't trying to get away. Morris began stroking Simon's shoulder gently through his shirt. There was still no reaction, so he dared to slide his hand up to the back of Simon's neck. It felt warm and soft, marred by the stiff brushes of hair where the barber had razored his hairline. 

Simon exhaled and Morris heard his breath catch raggedly in his throat. He wondered if the younger boy was scared, and that thought ratcheted his own terror to an even higher level. He had to stop this now. But now that he'd begun, he found that he couldn't stop. His hand ran through Simon's blond hair as he stepped closer to him, pressing his chest to Simon's back and sighing at the feel of it. His other arm twined around Simon's shoulder and began stroking the other boy's chest.

Simon still did not react, other than with his breathing. His hands stayed at his side and he continued to face the window. Though most of Morris's senses were awash in the feeling of having Simon in his arms, a part of him held back, still wanting to know what the other boy was thinking. He knew that Simon's reaction could ruin everything, but he had to know.

He grasped Simon's shoulders and turned him around. The two boys stared at each other for several seconds, neither one daring to speak. Then Simon smiled, and Morris felt joy surging through him as he watched the sweet smile spread across his friend's face. He closed his eyes and brought his mouth down to Simon's and they were kissing at last, and he was surprised to feel Simon's lips parting under his and Simon's tongue tentatively entering his mouth. He felt the tip of his own tongue touch Simon's and gasped as a shiver ran through his body.

They stood like that for a long time, mouths exploring, holding onto each other. Then he felt Simon pulling back. They moved apart. Simon looked at him from under his dark brows, his eyes worried. "I don't know what to do," he confessed softly, his cheeks pink with embarrassment.

"I'm not really sure either," Morris whispered, trying to sound reassuring even though he was finding it hard to breathe normally.

"So what do we do?"

"Just go with what comes naturally, I guess."

"Oh." Simon's blue eyes met his. "Well, then, I want to keep kissing some more. Can we do that?"

"For now," Morris said, smiling, and he pressed his lips to Simon's again. He lost himself in their kisses, the feeling of Simon's tongue inside his mouth, and when they stopped for air again he found that he was pressing himself along the length of his friend's body. God, it felt so good. Simon's body was all hard surfaces, angles and thin wiry muscles – completely different from any girl that Morris had ever been with. His bones seemed sharp under the skin, and his shoulders were broad but rangy, as if they had grown but had not quite managed to fill in yet. Morris couldn't believe how much he wanted to touch him. Every part of him.

He pressed his face into the niche under Simon's jawline and slid his tongue down the side of Simon's neck. Simon gasped. The sound of the kid responding to him drove Morris crazy. He began to frantically kiss his way down Simon's neck, listening as his breathing became shorter and louder, tasting the salty sweat on his friend's skin. 

Then suddenly Simon was struggling, pushing him away violently, and Morris jumped back a few steps. Simon stood against the dresser, not looking at him or at anything else really, just glaring down at his lap. Morris knew what Simon was glaring at; he'd felt it against his thigh a minute before. Now he tried desperately to calm himself down and as his excitement left him, fear rushed in to replace it. Oh God, what had he done? What was Simon thinking? He might tell his parents; he might tell the whole school. He might claim that Morris tried to attack him. His fear escalated to near panic as he sat there trying not to look at Simon.

Finally Simon said, "I think I better go."

Morris felt unable to move. He watched as Simon got up and gathered his books, torn between wishing for Simon to go and longing for him to stay. Just as his hand reached out to open the door, Simon paused. Morris turned away, not wanting to face whatever was coming next – anger, resentment, accusations . . .

From behind him, Simon said in a soft, unhappy voice, "You won't tell anybody?"

Morris looked over his shoulder and saw the same quiet panic that he was feeling written all over Simon's face. He looked so scared and vulnerable that Morris instantly forgot his fear and wanted only to comfort him. He actually smiled, a shaky imitation of the old, confident Morris smile. "No worries," he said, "I won't say a word."

Simon smiled wanly back at him, opened his door and walked out.

Both his passion and his worries came back to Morris that night when he lay awake in his bed. He tried to think about how wrong the whole thing was, how he was as straight as a guy could be (and there were plenty of girls who could testify to that), and the terrible things that would happen if word got around at school of what they had done. After he had convinced himself that it was all a strange fluke that could never be permitted to happen again, he was almost asleep when suddenly the memory of that moment when he felt Simon's lips parting under his filled him with feelings so intense that he groaned aloud. This was crazy, he thought, rolling over and putting his pillow over his head. What the hell was happening to him?

The next day in econ class, neither Morris nor Simon spoke or even looked at each other. Morris was so uncomfortably aware of the younger boy's presence in the row across that he wanted to run screaming from the room. Finally, as the bell rang and the kids around them packed up their books and banged their chairs, Morris heard what he had been both longing and dreading to hear.

"You want me to come over this afternoon?" Simon whispered so softly that he could barely be heard above the din in the classroom.

And despite all of his fears, Morris heard himself answer, "Yes."  


	5. Part Five

Part Five

As the mild California winter turned into an even milder California spring, Morris found himself in a genuine dilemma.

On the one hand, things were good. His grades were back to where they should be, and his scholarship was safe. His parents were pleased; they no longer sighed worriedly when they saw him and tried to corner him in conversations about what was bothering him. The baseball team was playing so well they were almost guaranteed to bring in some hardware at the end of the season. Objectively, it looked like his last semester in high school would be a triumph.

But on the other hand, Morris knew better.

The other seniors still weren't talking to him. He hadn't seen Meaghan in weeks. And now there was Simon Camden.

The thing with Simon -- that was what Morris called it, because he couldn't think of anything else that didn't sound awful. 

Simon had been coming over to his house almost every day, except when he had baseball practice. They forgot about Econ; instead, Simon always wanted to play with the Playstation or listen to Morris's rap CDs. The kid was living in a cultural wasteland, Morris realized; the Camdens would not allow their kids to play video games, and the only popular band that Simon was permitted to own on CD was Creed.

While Simon was discovering the popular culture of the twenty-first century, Morris found himself actually enjoying spending time with the kid. Simon still said every thought that came into his head, no matter how dorky it sounded. But a lot of what Simon said made sense, really, when you thought about it. It was just stuff that other people wouldn't say for fear of looking stupid.

You had to admire Simon's honesty, and his resilience in the face of all the abuse he got from the other kids. For example, there was the speech Simon had made after the dorky kid they were all ragging on brought a gun to school. Sure it was hokey, but it took balls to get up there and say something meaningful about violence to a bunch of other kids who were just waiting for the chance to rip you a new one. Morris's coaches had always talked about courage as if it was something you only found on a playing field, but Morris thought it probably took more courage to be Simon Camden every day than it did to stand around on a football field getting pounded. After all, nobody had ever laughed at Morris for being on the football team.

Yet what Simon wanted more than anything was to be accepted by the kids at school, especially the most popular ones. Morris didn't understand it at all. The whole scene was such superficial bullshit. Why would Simon tear himself up about it?

"You wouldn't understand," Simon informed him bitterly. "Nobody calls you Virgin Morris or expects you to be perfect all the time just because you're a minister's kid."

"Well, duh," Morris said. "But why do you care what they say about you?"

"Because I want them to like me. I want them to see the real me."

Morris sighed. "Dude, they're assholes. They don't give a shit about the real you. So just forget about them."

Simon folded his arms, scowling. "Easy for you to say. Everybody likes _you."_

"In case you haven't noticed, they don't like me so much anymore. Not since Tom's party."

Simon looked shocked. "I'm sorry about what happened at the party," he blurted out. "I didn't mean to make everybody hate you too."

"Don't be an ass, Camden. I'm the one who narced to your parents and got half the senior class arrested." Morris stretched out his long legs and leaned his head back against the headboard of the bed. "It doesn't matter anyway. I thought they were my friends, but obviously they couldn't care less about me, so fuck them."

Simon still looked worried that he had single-handedly driven all Morris's friends away. "Why did you take me to that party, anyway? You could have said no."

Well, there was a question. Hadn't he been wondering that himself for a while now? Looking back, he recalled that he hadn't even wanted to go. Tom and Mike's stupid parties were already starting to bore him, and he was tired of pretending to care about the same things his friends were into. There was really only one reason why he had gone. He decided he owed Simon an honest answer, and he gave one.

"Because you wanted to go, and because I liked you."

"Really?" Simon turned red with embarrassment and looked away.

"Yeah, really."

Simon said quietly, "I think you're probably the only person in the world who does."

"Bullshit." Morris tried to come up with the name of someone he knew who liked Simon. "What about your family?" he said lamely, trying to make a joke to lighten Simon's mood. "They're religious. They have to like everybody."

"They don't even know me," Simon confessed, his voice thick with emotion. "You don't know what they're like. They're always watching me, trying to find out everything I do. I can't ever have any privacy because then I might do something wrong, or I might _think_ something wrong. My sister listens in on all my phone calls and then just tells Mom and Dad everything I say. My brother spied on me through the window while I was on a date with Sasha."

"You brothers and sisters spy on you?" Morris repeated stupidly. Privately he thanked God that he was an only child.

"Yes," Simon said. "But my parents don't care. They do it too. My dad always says he wants me to grow up and start acting like a man, but he doesn't even see me. He just wants me to act the way he thinks I should. And my mother's crazy. She locked us all out of the house once because we wouldn't do what she said. She's the reason everybody at school knows I'm a virgin. Two years of the whole school calling me 'Virgin Camden,' all because of her!"

When Simon finally wound down, Morris could only mumble, "That fucking sucks, man." He knew it was inadequate, but what could he say? The most restrictive his parents had ever been was when they told him he couldn't have girls in his bedroom overnight.

Flatly, Simon said, "If they knew what I was really like, they would hate me."

"That's crap, Camden. Parents don't hate their kids."

"Mine would." Simon sounded so certain of this that Morris didn't dare question it. It was disturbing, wondering if the Camdens, Uberparents of Glenoak, could really hate their own son. Morris especially did not want to think about the reasons why the Camdens might hate the real Simon. If he did, then he would have to wonder what his own parents would say if they knew about the thing with Simon. 


End file.
